Legends 02 - Murder in LaMut by Raymond E Feist

Author:Raymond E Feist [Raymond E Feist]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2010-08-06T00:49:53.652000+00:00

Pirojil hoped it was unlikely. He was far too many paces away to get to Morray’s side in what he trusted was the improbable event of Baron Viztria suddenly picking up the sword in front of him and running Morray through. Should that improbability come to pass, the best Pirojil could do was to help pick up the body. After he had killed Viztria, of course; assuming Steven Argent didn’t beat him to it. Pirojil kept his face impassive, but smiled inside remembering how the Swordmaster had embarrassed the pompous little baron in front of his peers.

Plates of food, mugs of coffee, and a few bottles and wineglasses were being served to the guests by a squad of servants from side tables around the room, indicating to Pirojil that the Council would probably be going on for several hours at least, although nobody had explicitly said as much, not in Pirojil’s hearing.

‘By order of the Earl of LaMut,’ the Swordmaster said, as he rose, while the others remained seated, ‘this Baronial Council in the Earldom of LaMut is now called to assemble. Let any of the assembled who cannot now freely swear their allegiance to Earl Vandros, to Duke Brucal, to Prince Erland, and to the Kingdom itself now either absent themselves without fear of retribution or penalty, or explain to the satisfaction of this noble company why they cannot so swear.’

Pirojil wondered about the omission of the King or the Eastern Realm’s Viceroy, Guy du Bas-Tyra - by name or rank, although Steven Argent had mentioned the Kingdom in the vaguest possible generality - but he didn’t know what that meant, although it was clearly something unpalatable to two men from the way that Baron Langahan and Baron Viztria, both from Krondor, were scowling.

Well, Langahan’s scowl probably meant something. As to Viztria, the fox-faced little court baron always seemed to have either a scowl or a sneer pasted on his face, and neither expression necessarily meant anything more than that his face was in the room with him.

Several pairs of eyes turned to Barrel Langahan, the improbably sun-browned, improbably common-looking balding court baron, who frowned and quickly shuffled to his feet, waiting until Steven Argent sat before he spoke.

‘As you all know,’ Langahan said, ‘I am from the court in Krondor, and am not fealty-bound to the Earldom of LaMut, nor to the Duchy of Yabon; the same is true of my friend, Baron Viztria. While I hold Duke Brucal of Yabon and Earl Vandros of LaMut in the highest esteem, I cannot swear my allegiance to either the earldom or the duchy.’ His expression grew stern. ‘Although I can and do freely swear my allegiance to the King, and obedience to his chosen Viceroy, may the gods grant him great health and deep wisdom in these most difficult of times.’

It was probably not the most politically delicate thing to say, given the feud between Guy du Bas-Tyra and Borric of Crydee. Duke Brucal of Yabon was probably too

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